chapter 7
The auction for my virginity has been purchased while I sat across from the man my father had chosen to own me.
The universe had a cruel sense of irony.
“Are you even listening?” Anthony’s voice cut through my haze, irritation threading through his perfect diction.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even think straight.
The walls of the restaurant seemed to contract around me. The chatter of other diners morphing into a suffocating hum that pressed against my eardrums.
“I need to go,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could shape them into something more polite. “Thank you for lunch.”
Anthony blinked, visibly thrown by my abruptness.
To his credit, his recovery was swift, his features rearranging into practiced nonchalance.
“We should at least exchange numbers,” he said, already reaching for his phone. “Since we’re, you know… engaged.”
The word hung between us, grotesque in its falseness.
My fingers trembled as I took my phone back out, knowing it would be faster to comply than argue.
We traded devices, each inputting our contact information with mechanical efficiency.
His fingers brushed against mine as we exchanged phones again, and I had to suppress a shudder at how empty the touch felt.
I spot Josie by the exit, waving like she’s flagging down a rescue helicopter, and my stomach free-falls.
“Shit,” I mutter, plastering on what I hope resembles a smile but probably looks more like a hostage photo.
“So?” Josie pounces the second I’m within earshot, eyes gleaming with the bloodlust of someone who feeds on gossip. “Husband material or complete disaster? I need details, measurements, and at least three direct quotes.”
“Headache,” I lie, massaging my temple like it might actually convince someone who’s known me since I still believed in Santa. “Nuclear grade.”
Her face collapses like a soufflé. “That’s it? No dramatic showdown? No revelation that he secretly collects his own toenails or exclusively dates women who look like his mother?”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I glance toward the exit, freedom so close I can smell it. “My driver’s outside. He can drop you off, and I’ll give you the boring play-by-play en route.”
“Deal.” She perks up like I’ve offered her blackmail material. “But I want everything—including how many times he checked his reflection in the silverware.”
Once we’re sealed in the backseat with the privacy glass up—my father’s one good idea in his entire parenting career—I unleash.
“He’s hot, sure,” I admit, head falling back against the leather. “But emotionally? He’s a teenager with a black card. I’ve had deeper connections with Siri.”
Josie cackles. “Seriously? That bad?”
“Worse. First twenty minutes? Instagram models and protein shakes. Then he moved on to virgin-shaming me like my hymen is a character flaw I developed specifically to ruin his day.”
“Holy shit.” Her eyes widen to cartoon proportions. “What an asshole!”
“A professionally groomed, socially acceptable asshole who’ll inherit millions,” I correct. “The perfect son-in-law for Gunther Wallace, Human Emotion Vacuum.”
She tilts her head, processing. “Reminds me of that weird girl from school—what was her name? Only talked about chemical compounds and looked at people like they were lab specimens?”
“Melanie Schwartz,” I supply, grateful for the distraction. “Chemistry Club president for three consecutive years of social suicide.”
“We should find her,” Josie grins wickedly. “Introduce her to Anthony. They can bore each other to death and save you from matrimonial hell.”
I feel my face crack into an actual smile. “You’re being really sweet today.”
“Don’t get used to it.” She bumps my shoulder. “I have a reputation as a heartless bitch to maintain.”
As we pull up to her house, she squeezes my hand. “Call me later? When the migraine magically disappears?”
I nod, guilt twisting in my chest like a knife. “Promise.”
The lie tastes bitter, but not as bitter as the truth would.
The moment the car pulled away, my mind snapped back to the notification.
My auction. The final price—the lot has been purchased. The possibility of escape that now had tangible form.
The house was silent when I returned, the staff scarce and my parents nowhere to be seen.
I raced up the stairs, heart hammering against my ribs like it might break through bone.
The door to my room barely closed behind me before I collapsed onto my bed, laptop already open, fingers shaking as I navigated to the Virtue Exchange.
The number that greeted me stole the breath from my lungs.
$455,000.
The room tilted around me, reality stretching and distorting as I stared at the figure.
I hadn’t even calculated how much I’d need to live independently when I’d set the starting price at $100,000.
Now, someone was willing to pay over four times that amount for something I’d been taught had value only in its preservation, only in its eventual gifting to a husband.
A strange, savage power surged through my veins.
For the first time in my life, I felt like a businesswoman—calculating risk and return, making decisions that would shape my future. Not a dress-up doll to be posed and traded by men in suits.
I clicked on the winning bid, heart racing as I read the terms.
My stomach lurched, acid burning up my throat as the reality crystallized.
I’d never even been kissed. Never felt a man’s hands on my skin.
All my knowledge of desire came from dog-eared romance novels hidden between economics textbooks and Josie’s explicit play-by-plays of her weekend conquests.
Abstract concepts I could intellectualize but never truly understand—until Caleb walked in and suddenly those fictional scenarios were writing themselves across my skin in goosebumps, making my imagination run wild in high definition.
I slammed the door on that thought before it could form completely, before the image of Caleb’s fingers against my cheek could fully materialize.
This wasn’t about desire. This was about freedom. About taking control of my body, my future, my life.
I reread the details until they blurred before my eyes:
Tonight. 8 p.m. Valemont Hotel, Manhattan. Room 512. Final payment will be auto-released.
This was my one shot at independence—the strange, terrifying, one-in-a-million opportunity to buy my way out of the cage my father had built around me.
But tonight. So soon. So final.
The weight of the decision pressed against my chest like a stone.
I’d spent twenty-two years being good, being perfect, being exactly what my family demanded.
And what had it gotten me? Traded away like a commodity to a man who couldn’t be bothered to look up from his phone when meeting his future wife.
A violent tremor ran through my hand as I moved the cursor to the button at the bottom of the screen.
One click would change everything. Would transform me from Mikaela Wallace, perfect daughter and virgin bride-to-be, into… something else.
Someone free.
I pressed down. ACCEPTED.
The confirmation appeared instantly, cold and impersonal—transaction initiated, hotel information confirmed, payment pending completion.
What had I done? What had I just agreed to?
